I Don't Love You
by socially-awkward-butterfly
Summary: First things first, it was /not/ love at first sight. Hell no. Helena was repulsed by him, she was working her butt off to bring him down, and then she gets kidnapped. By him. Who is convinced they're meant to be. And Moriarty doesn't like to share what he thinks is his. He's one of the 'if I can't have her, no one can' types. So this is not love. This is survival.
1. I'm Not Okay

**(Helena's POV)**

No. This is useless. If the Great Sherlock Holmes couldn't decipher this, how am I supposed to? I just graduated bloody high school! This code is impossible.

Frustrated, I throw the papers carelessly on my desk. Yes, _my_ desk. Dad works at Scotland Yard, he managed to get me an internship last summer. Now, I'm officially a police officer. Which I like. I get to bring down the sick bastards who cause harm to others. What I don't like is how I'm always the one to deal with Sherlock bloody Holmes, the most annoying git the world has ever produced. He's an okay guy. When he's not on cases.

See, I'm the only one who Sherlock thinks isn't an idiot. Probably because I graduated two years early and then made it directly onto the police force. But that means I get stuck dealing with him when he comes marching onto a crime scene, calling Dad an idiot for missing something (that's frankly pretty clear to me most times, but does anyone ever listen to Helena?).

The latest thing he's done is get me to try to track down Moriarty. The Moriarty. The very Moriarty who's committed hundreds of crimes and never gotten caught once. He was apparently behind the cabbie case, but we haven't heard anything from him since. Yes, Sherlock, brilliant idea. Leave tracking down the world's only consulting criminal to the sixteen year old.

Sighing, I push my fringe out of my face and lean back slightly in my chair. Coffee. I need coffee. Like, right now. I get up and walk down to the morgue of St. Bart's - strange place to go for coffee, but I need to consult Sherlock and he can usually be found there.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, gotta find Sherlock," I mutter, peeking into the morgue. No one. Labs? I turn and walk back that way. I knock before entering. Sherlock is staring intently at a microscope with a pair of trainers and John next to him. Molly stands in the corner, looking awkward as always. I give a slight wave.

"Hey, Sherlock-"

"Not now, John."

"Yeah, I'm not John, Sherlock," I say tiredly.

"Then who are you?"

"Maybe if you just bloody paid some attention to me for once, you'd know it was Helena!" I have known Sherlock for a large portion of my life. It was not until I started working at the Yard he knew I existed. I feel invisible most times. Not many people notice me.

"...Who?" I toss my hands in the air.

"THAT'S IT! I can't do it anymore! Let someone else deal with you, I'm certainly not anymore!"

"What are you talking about," John asks.

"At the Yard... They pick one unlucky person to deal with this git. It's me because Sherlock doesn't insult my intelligence on a daily basis but... I can't do it anymore. He keeps giving me work he wants me to do, and I've actually got a paying job, believe it or not, and it's starting to interfere with that. So, Sherlock, you can continue your search for Moriarty by yourself. Also, I could not decode those papers because I am not a professional cryptographer."

"Pity, Helena. You actually had potential." He still doesn't look up. I shake my head and walk out after waving to John and Molly. On my way out, I almost run straight into someone. I instead run into the water fountain. Nice job, Helena, this is why you graduated high school two years early. I start to apologize, but his hand flies up to his mouth and his eyes are widened out of horror.

"OhmigodIamsosorryIdidn'tseeyouohthisismyfaultareyouokay?" I shrug it off.

"I'm fine. It's alright, I'm used to bumping into things. No worries, it's all good." Except for some nasty bruises that'll be left behind. If dad sees those, he might think I've been up to some...bedroom activities. Which I haven't. He holds a hand out.

"I'm Jim. I work in IT. Do you work here? I don't think I've seen you around." I shake hands with him.

"Helena. No, I don't. I work down at Scotland Yard, new officer. I just graduated high school."

"Oh! You look a bit young, I would've guessed sophomore year."

"I graduated two years early. Anyways, I've got to go back to work." I jog back, knowing Dad will be pissed I left. Something seems strange about this Jim. No one ever notices me, and I'd assumed no one ever will.

 **First chapter is a bit sucky, but plese just stick with me here. I swear, they get better.**


	2. Drowning Lessons (With Moriarty!)

**(Jim's POV)**

"I gave you my number," I call out to Sherly Werly, exposing half of my face. Leave him in suspense for a bit, why not? "Thought you might call." No, I was hoping he'd pass it on to that Helena girl who's been working her arse off to track me down. I'm more into bad girls, but I will not deny someone just because they're an angel. Especially not if they graduated high school two years early and made it directly onto the police force. I shake my head at this _ordinary_ thoughts. _Focus, Jim, focus. Stop acting like a love-sick teenager._ I walk slowly out to see Sherlock, flashing my signature smirk before looking down at the tiles as I walk. I remember this place. Where I killed damn Carl Powers. I hated that kid. If only his blood had stained these tiles, I would've loved to see that...

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket," I ask slowly as he draws his gun and points it at my chest, which doesn't faze me. Seb's a straight shot, it would be clean and done before he could pull the trigger. "Or are you just _pleased_ to see me," I finish playfully.

"Both," he replies nonchalantly, which disappoints me slightly. I just strapped his best friend to a bomb. Can't he have the decency to look a little more panicked? Of course, I'd be disappointed if he was panicked like an ordinary person. I stop walking, my hands casually in my pockets. I'm not worried about anything, why should I be?

"Jim Moriarty." Then, as an afterthought, "Hi!" Because it's extremely rude to not greet a guest. I may be a homocidal psychopath (and the world's only consulting criminal, hells yeah), but I've got manners. I start walking again when this receives no reaction.

"Jim," I ask, like he needs reminding. Maybe he does, gay IT Jim was pretty forget-able. "Jim from the hospital?" I bet Helena remembers- _Shut up, Jim!_ I bite my lip. "Hmm. Did I really make such a... _fleeting_ impression? Although, I suppose, that _was_ rather the point." I stop walking again and roll my eyes as he glances questioningly from the red dots to me.

"Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Why should I put myself in danger when I can hire others?

"I've given you a _glimpse_ , Sherlock," I pause slightly, reflecting on how large my empire has gotten. I'm very proud, and I have every right to be. "Just a _teensy_ glimpse..." I can't help the smile that creeps on my face. This is the most fun game I've played in a while. "Of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world. I'm a specialist, you see." I look up like this has just occured to me. "Like you." Like him. We're opposites, that's what makes us so alike. He's the world's only consulting detective, I'm the world's only consulting criminal. Like I made that hostage say, 'We were made for each other, Sherlock.'

"Dear Jim," he starts. I slowly start walking forward again. "Please will you _fix_ it for me, to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" I smile at the reference to the TV show. "Dear Jim, please will you _fix_ it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so." That's pretty much how all the letters go. _Boring,_ if you ask me.

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

"Isn't it," I ask with a smile. "No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will." I wouldn't mind Helena getting to me.

"I did," he says, cocking the gun. He won't shoot, not with John strapped to a bomb. He doesn't know what my instructions are.

"You've come the closest," I allow. "But now you're in my way." More specifically, him and Helena are in my way, and I plan on seperating the team. I can deal with them individually, make my life easier. Also, it'll be fun.

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes, you did." Sherlock, honey, you're not a mind reader, so could you stop pretending you know what I'm thinking (even if it is what I'm thinking, damn you to hell, Sherlock Holmes)? I shrug exggeratedly.

"Yeah, okay, I did." Back to being serious. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock, _Daddy's had enough now._ " Okay, mostly serious. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty-million quid just to get you to come out and play." And stop sending Helena, because I feel like you're purposely trying to distract me with her. "So take this as a friendly warning... My dear." Who cares I just said the flirting's over? I can flirt all I want. After all, I'm _sooooooo_ changeable. "Back off." A small smile takes over my face as I walk forward again.

"Although, I have _loved_ this. This little _game_ of ours. Playing _Jim_ from _IT._ Playing gay." I can see a little flicker in his eyes. Either he's enjoying this game or is convinced I'm actually gay. I'm hoping for option one- or else he'd disappoint me by being ordinary. "Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," he replies angrily. No shit, Sherlock, people die constantly. Just like my brain cells are dying whilst talking with you. So, instead of getting mad, I laugh a little.

"That's what people _DO_!" Oops. Guess my anger got the best of me. I'm not sorry at all.

"I will stop you." That's cute. Like when a six year old gives you a shitty drawing of a stick figure and they act like it's a masterpiece and you just pat them on the head and go, 'That's nice, sweetie' and hang it up on the fridge. Sherlock is the six year old, but I've never been one to give false hope.

"No, you won't."

"You alright," he asks John. I roll my eyes as he doesn't speak. Really, some people can't take threats as the jokes they are.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy, go ahead." He just nods. Sherlock holds out a thumbdrive- the Bruce-Partington plans, does he _really_ think I want those?

"Take it." I play dumb for him- he's obviously not as smart as I originally thought, might as well dummy things down for him. Might be moving a bit too fast for his goldfish brain.

"Huh? Oh! That. The missile plans." Just in case he's forgotten what they are in the five seconds it took him to take them from his pocket. I slowly walk forward, take it from him, and press a kiss to it. I wonder what it'd be like to kiss Helena _\- Dammit, Jim, focus!_ I toss them in the pool.

"Booooring," I sing. "I could've gotten those anywhere." John suddenly jumps on my back- _Jesus, John, cut down on the cake-_ and I stumble only slightly, trying to remain casual, as if I do this daily.

"Good," I laugh. "Very good!"

"Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John whispers harshly. That's an insult to Seb- he wouldn't dare pull the trigger on John, knowing full well I'd die in the process. However, I do appreciate the 'Mr.' before my name. Some people just lack manners these days. At least this idiot has some.

"He's sweet," I say to Sherlock. "I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get sentimental about their pets." I'd get sentimental over Helena- _will_ get sentimental over Helena, _when_ the plan is a success tonight. "So touchingly loyal." I shoot a glance at John, smiling. "But you've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." Seb points his gun at Sherlock. I really do appreciate Seb, he's such a good sniper. I should get him a fruit basket or something, for all the years of loyal hard work as my right hand man. Sherlock shakes his head slightly and the extra weight is dropped as John lets go of my neck. If that idiot left bruises _\- I swear, Jim, focus, for fuck's sake!_

"Gotcha," I sing, then brush off my suit. "Westwood," I say indignantly at the wrinkles now in my suit. Thank you, Watson, for ruining my suit _\- Jim, seriously, focus._

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh, let me guess, I get killed," he says in a bored tone. No, honey, don't be so predictable.

" _Kill_ you? Um, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyways, some day. I don't wanna _rush_ it, though. I'm saving it up for something _special_. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll _burn_ you. I'll burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock, that fake sociopath front isn't going to fool me, you're gonna have to try a _bit_ harder.

"But we both know that's not _quite_ true." This has the desired effect because he glances at John, then blinks involuntary. I shrug and look around.

"Well, I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?"

"Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." I make an exaggerated face. Subtlety has never been my area. "Because I'd be _surprised_ , Sherlock, really, I would. And, just a teensy bit... _disappointed_." I pause to get my point across. "And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very _long_. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." I turn and walk away.

"Catch...you...later," he calls, determined to get the last word. That's cute, Sherlock, but I thought we already established I'm in control here.

"No you won't," I sing back. Off to see Helena. They should have her by now. I hope so.

 **Happy NaNoWriMo (*collective groaning*)! If anyone is doing this crazy challenge, leave me a review or PM if it's being posted online. I'd love to read what you guys write. Toodles, and please remember to read and review!**


	3. I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

**(Helena's POV)**

My head is pounding. I have no idea what I got drugged with, but I'm weak and exhausted and it's hard just to stay awake.

I'm in a bed, it appears. The mattress and blankets are soft, but the chain around my ankle welded to the bed post hurts. Where the hell am I? Who the hell kidnapped me?

The door opens and I can see only the faint outline of a man in a suit.

"Helena," he says softly. That voice...

"Jim? From IT? What the hell is happening?"

"Helena, love, I don't really work in IT." I give a frustrated tug on the chain.

"I got that bit. Who the hell are you?"

"Jim Moriarty."

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," I chant, still desperately trying to escape the chain. He walks closer and I flinch.

"Look, I'm not even trying to track you down anymore. Please, let me go." He rests his hand on my ankle, the one without the chain.

"I've been waiting so long for this, Helena." His voice is soft and he's looking at me with something I can't describe in his eyes.

"Please don't kill me."

"Kill you?" He laughs softly as he sits on the end of the bed. "Helena, I'm not gonna kill you."

"What _are_ you gonna do?"

"Helena, I can't get you off of my mind. I think about you. All the time." His hand starts running up my shin. I wriggle around to try to escape his touch. "I just can't stop thinking about you. It was love at first sight." That startles me enough to make me stop moving.

"Uh, Moriarty-"

"It's Jim."

"Uh, yeah, I, uh, I don't like you, therefore it was not love at first sight and you can let me go." His hand stops moving and his eyes turn cold and dangerous.

"What do you mean? We were meant to be, Helena, why can't you see that?!"

"Please calm down," I squeak as he stands and paces. He's tugging at his hair.

"We were. We're _meant to be_. If I can't have you, no one can," he declares, suddenly turning on me and wrapping his hands tightly around my neck. I gasp for air as I try to pry his hands from my neck.

"Mori- Jim- Stop-" More gasping as my vision starts to go black. "Please-" I'm scratching desperately at his fingers. "I-I l-l-l-love you." His hands loosen and he removes them as his expression softens.

"Do you? Really?"

"Y-Yes," I croak, trying to mask the lie. "I don't like you- I love you." He sits next to me and gently rubs his thumb over my throat. This man is utterly insane. He just tried to choke me to death because I don't love him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says quietly, looking ashamed. "I shouldn't've hurt you."

"I-It's f-fine." I have never been this terrified in my life. He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.

"Tired, Helena?"

"A bit."

"Good. Hang on, I'll only be a second." He leaves the room and I take the opportunity to assess my situation. Locks on all the doors, appears to be a number pad. Locks on all the windows, also number pads. Chain welded to both the cuff and bedpost, Moriarty probably has the key. I shuffle around a bit and dig in my pocket for my phone.

And then I realize that these aren't my clothes. Which means he physically changed me into a different set of clothes. On top of not having my phone or anything that could help me get out of here, he's seen me naked, or at least down to my undergarments, if I'm lucky.

Moriarty comes back in, wearing pajamas. I audibly whimper when he lays next to me on the bed.

"What's wrong, baby?" Ew.

"I, uh, I just think we're taking things too fast."

"Don't - Don't you love me?"

"I do. I just. Um. Wow. Erm, how should I put this? The last time that a boy slept in my bed with me, I was six and on a vacation and it was my best friend Riley. Who is gay."

"I promise, I won't hurt you. I love you."

"I, erm, love you, too."

"Try to get some sleep," he mumbles. I nod drawing in a breath, and force myself to lay back down. When his arm snakes protectively around my waist, I visibly shudder and he presses a couple kisses to the back of my neck.

"Be a good girl for Daddy and I'll take your chain off tomorrow." You sick, twisted bastard-

"Okay," I reply, my voice still squeaky from being choked. I almost groan at the expectant silence- I was hoping he wouldn't make me say it. "Daddy," I add. I want to vomit, but if this is how I have to survive, so be it. He kisses my neck again.

"Good girl." And with one final shudder, I fall asleep.


	4. The Light Behind Your Eyes

**(Jim's POV)**

My alarm goes off and I sit up groggily, swiping it off so my little angel doesn't have to be woken up by such a harsh noise. I'd rather wake her up myself so I can see how adorable she is in the morning. I trail my fingers softly over her collarbone.

"Helena," I sing softly, brushing her hair from her face. I avoid looking at her neck because I don't want to see the bruises that are proof of my rash reaction last night. "Wake up, baby." She groans and blinks a few times. Her yawn freezes in her mouth when she catches sight of my face. I brush my lips gently against her forehead.

"Morning, love."

"G-Good morning." Her voice is still croaky and guilt surges through my heart. How could I injure her, my sweet Helena with big brown doe eyes and dyed grey hair? So I brush my thumb over her lips as a silent apology.

"I'm making breakfast. Would you like to help?"

"I-I can't cook."

"Okay. You could sit with me and I'll cook." She nods and I reach under the blanket, searching for the cuff on her ankle. I press my thumb to the pad and it unlocks, then I help her stand. I feel bad for locking her up; someone as beautiful as her should be able to walk freely, not be tethered to my bed. But that's also the problem. She's so beautiful, someone might try to steal her from me, and I can't protect her if she's out on her own in the big bad world. I want her all to myself.

She looks around the flat, stretching and yawning. I catch her rubbing her ankle and instantly feel bad again.

"Does it hurt," I ask her as I begin flipping pancakes. "Your ankle?"

"Just a bit," she croaks.

"How many pancakes would you like?"

"Just one."

"Sure thing. You sure you don't want more?" I just want to spoil my little Helena and make her feel like the princess she is.

"Yeah." I turn and lean against the counter so I can talk to her as the pancakes cook.

"So, what do you plan on doing today?"

"I don't know. What am I allowed to do?"

"Whatever you please. Except leave, of course."

"Of course," she echoes, and I almost miss the sarcasm.

"I've got work," I say sadly. I'd rather stay here with her. "I'll be gone all day. Sorry."

"It's fine. Am I going to be here alone all day?" Is that sadness on her face? Or fear?

"No. I presume you know who Sebastian Moran is?" Of course she does. She's been tracking me down for a while now. She nods. "He'll be staying with you. I'd feel bad if I left you alone." I feel bad enough for leaving her with Seb, even if he'll take good care of her.

"Okay. The pancake is on fire." I turn around and quickly put it out.

"Shit! Okay, this will be _my_ pancake. Whoops." I give her one that isn't burnt. She nibbles on a little bit of it. I don't think she's very hungry. Breakfast is silent until I can't stop staring at her.

"Is there something on my face?"

"No. I just... Your eyes are so beautiful."

"Oh." I get up with a sigh.

"I've got to get ready. Love you."

"L-Love you, too."

In response to the guest review left on the previous chapter, yes, this is sort of a reference to MCR. The title, Helena's name, and individual chapter titles all are song lyrics or song titles. Read and review, please!


	5. Teenagers

**(Helena's POV)**

When Moriarty leaves, the tall blonde haired man I know to be Sebastian Moran replaces him. He actually seems fairly nice.

"Helena, right?" I nod. He sits across from me. "Pretty name."

"Thanks, it was a birthday gift." He chuckles slightly.

"Jim wants me to tell you that he'd appreciate it if you were dressed nicely for him when he gets home, which basically means wear a gown or else."

"Duly noted, Mr. Moran."

"How'd you know my name," he questions.

"I spent the last six months tracking down you and Jim."

"Do you actually love him?"

"No answer."

"That's a no, then."

"Please don't tell him. He tried to strangle me last night when I said that."

"It's my job to tell him." Fear sinks into my heart. What will Moriarty- Jim- do to me? "But I won't."

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

"You're actually pretty nice for a serial killer."

"Thanks, I guess?"

"Are you nice enough to help me leave?"

"I'm not dumb enough to help you leave."

"Please, I just- I wanna go home." This is the most vulnerable I've sounded since I was brought here.

"I know you do, sweetheart, but you're stuck here. Just accept it. And Jim ain't all that bad. He can be nice, sometimes. You'll adjust, I'm sure." He pats my hand and I nod.

"Right. Day one of the nightmare."

So a guest (Hello) left a review on my previous chapter. While I appreciate all reviews, because it means you've taken precious time from your lives to read what I write, this review brougt something to my attention that I thought was worth mentioning. Here's the review that was left (and I mean no offense to the reviewer; it's my fault for not making this clearer):

 _Hello:Well... This is disturbing. Already and we haven't even met Moriarty yet. Luckily though, this depends on one fact only and is hardly a story breaking issue: she's sixteen. Make her five years older and this will be very interesting. As it is, it is just freaking creepy and I mean that in a constructive way, not as flame._

 _Just the thought of a sixteen-year-old kid with Moriarty makes my skin crawl. Even more than the thought of that man with anyone does... urgh._

I would like to clear this up now, early into the story: This story is _meant_ to be disturbing and creepy. The reason I made her so young and kept Jim the same age is to emphasize that he's got no limits. This story isn't meant to be a romance, and Helena will not be falling in love with Jim any time soon (hence the title of this fic).

Just wanted to clear this up, and no dosrespect to the reviewer. Again, entirely my fault for not clearing that up. Read and review, please, and I'm sorry if this seems offensive to you, as it's not meant to be.


	6. Dead!

I walk in after a long day of paperwork. My poor little Helena must have missed me so much today.

"Lena," I call, knocking on my bedroom door. I'd like to give her everything, including privacy. I hear something being dropped, and then someone falling. A small smile finds its way to my lips. My clumsy little Lena. "I'm coming in, sweetheart." I push the door open, expecting to find her all nice and pretty and dressed up for me in the gown I left her. But she's not.

"J-Jim," she stutters. I take in her entire appearance. Old sweats of mine and a t-shirt of Seb's- she's wearing clothes from Sebastian?!- entirely covered in paint. Her hair is scraped back into a knot at the top of her head and her entire forearms, hands, and parts of her face are covered in paint. She must've been painting the walls- I see her mural. It's pretty, and I've got no problem with her painting, but I realize that that wasn't a book and then Lena hitting the groundlike I originally thought.

That was two gallons of neon pink paint hitting the black carpeting.

And guess who stepped in it? My brand new shoes now have pink soles. Thank you, Helena.

I try to control my temper. I don't want to hurt her, not again.

"Helena, love, what's all over the floor," I ask slowly, eyes shut and hands curling into fists.

"C-Carpeting."

"And what's on the carpet? Because it looks like two gallon of pink paint."

"I-I'm sorry." I sigh.

"I know you are. Get out of the room before the paint fumes get to you." She rushes out and I call Seb in.

"Two questions: One, why is she not dressed? Two, where the hell is that damn maid?"

"One, she said she didn't feel like it. Two, you killed Anita last week and never hired a new one."

"Get her washed up and call Tom."

"Tom isn't a-"

"Tom owes me a favor and I'm slowly losing patience, Sebastian." He nods, ever the dutiful little soldier.

"Yes, sir."

Short and not my favorite chapter, but I' going through a bit of writer's block. Any suggestions are welcome, and give me an idea you want to see between Jim and Helena and I'll try to incorporate it. Read and review!


	7. Demolition Lovers

**(Helena's POV)**

Sebastian finds me standing in the middle of the living room, crying silent, terrified tears and avoiding touching any furniture. He sighs and puts his hand on the middle of my back, leading me away.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't m-mean-"

"He's not all that mad. I'm sure it'll blow over by dinner." I swallow and nod, hoping he's right. What if he kills me? I didn't mean to spill the paint- Sebastian stops me from walking by stepping in front of me and putting his hands on my shoulders.

"Look at me, Helena. You're not in trouble or anything like that. The worst Jim might do is sleep on the couch tonight, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind that. Brighten up."

"K-Kay." He sighs and draws me closer to him as he leads me to what is probably the bathroom.

"He loves you. In his sick and twisted way."

"Please, I don't w-wanna talk about this-"

"You didn't let me finish. He's not going to hurt you if he loves you. Just bat your eyes at him and tell him you're sorry and he'll be all sweet to you. Promise." I sniffle as he turns the shower on and sets a towel on the sink. "I can't lock the door. I'm sorry, but you've got to understand that Jim will basically be controlling everything in your life from now on. That means no privacy. I don't think he'll peek in on you, but be prepared. I definitely won't, so you don't have to worry about me. Just call me when you're done and I'll turn the shower off for you." I nod slowly and he leaves, the door remaining unlocked. I'm not willing to face Moriarty's- _Jim's-_ wrath if I lock the door and go against his wishes, so I quickly strip and climb into the shower.

I scrub at the pink paint and finally let myself cry. I don't want to be here. I want to be home, with Dad, and solving cases, and playing pranks on Anderson with Sally when she gets mad at him. I want to be in my own bathroom with my phone blaring Gerard's calming voice and my strawberry shampoo getting lathered in my hair. I want to know the door is locked and a perverted, psychotic criminal isn't going to possibly walk in on me-

-Which of _course_ he just _has_ to do.

"Lena?"

"I'm in the shower," I squeak. The door slowly creaks open and cold air rushes in. I pretend it's that that makes me shiver, not his footsteps getting closer.

"What happened?"

"I was painting, and you startled me, and I dropped the paint." My voice is stiff, but if I let any emotion show, it'll crack and I'll cry. His pale, bony fingers peek around the edge of the curtain and he pulls it back a bit. I squeeze my eyes shut, not being able to stand seeing him as he looks at my naked body while I can't do a damn thing about it.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Thank you." My arms cross protectively over my chest.

"You're upset."

"N-No."

"What's wrong, then?" _Careful, Helena,_ a voice in my head warns. _You're naked, vulnerable, and physically weak._

"I-I just... I miss home and my dad."

"Don't you like it here, though?" I bite my lip and slowly open my eyes to make contact with his.

"It just doesn't feel like home." _Because home isn't somewhere I'm constantly terrified of doing something wrong at and getting killed or worse-_

"Is there anything I can do to make it feel more like home for you?"

"A bit more privacy, maybe," I find enough courage to squeak out. "At least let me lock the door when I'm in the bathroom, please."

"Done. You remember where the kitchen is, right?" I nod, remembering the pancake I ate this morning- and how I immediately threw it up as soon as he'd left. "Meet me out there for dinner after you're dressed, sweetheart. I've got sweapants in my top drawer you can borrow for now, and t-shirts are in the bottom. Love you."

"L-Love you, too." He turns and walks out. I cry for Dad and pray for once that Sherlock paid enough attention to me and knows where I am.

 **Forever and a day later, here's your update! Read and review, please, my lovely readers.**


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